The Old Wilson House - Part 1

Sometimes our lives have to be completely shaken up, changed, and rearranged to relocate us to the place we’re meant to be. This something happened last year in the woods with my brothers and I, picking up logs and seeing the mysteries underneath. As we had hoped, we found insects and cool, wet dirt clusters along with different array of mosses and rocks. The smell of the forest was a hint of strong pine and dying oak with the feeling of cold fog pushing on your back. To our dismay, we had only hoped of going into the woods for a minute or less, as the tretious adventure led downhill towards the old Wilson house. The house was covered in twisting and twirling ivy around the sides, with the old grey blocks chipping and cracking. The windows were broken as well as most of the doors, loosely hanging on its hinges letting those outside, see inside.

Some say the house was haunted, left behind the cold hands of the owner that passed away and seeing the appearance of a shadow in the cracked window. My brothers and I passed the old Wilson house to go onto our adventure, stopping every once in awhile to pick mud from their yellow galoshes. We continued onward, weaving between the old apple trees hoping not to break our ankles, towards the irrational fear of exploring more places. Sticks would crunch under our feet as we thought we were being followed, hurrying along the new trail. My brothers and I weren’t prepare for much more, only a backpack on my shoulders and a hope of returning home. I didn’t show these emotions since being the oldest, you have to be seen as a strong independent teenage and can do the impossible.

My two brothers were the havoc makers as they did wander away from home, leaving me to chase after them with a broken throat and weary eyes. My mother would always be behind the screen door, holding the youngest in her arms while she cleared her mind for dinner.

Birds were calling from above echoing their songs across distances, reaching the other end of the forest.

We continued walking under the tall white oak trees, their golden, dewy leaves glowed under the sun. I crossed the paths of wet logs, sliding my galoshes onto the soft, mossy ground. My brothers were farther ahead of me, their brown hair vanishing into the deeper part of the woods. I skipped forth feeling the crisp wind blowing through my hair and the chill of the fall around me, my hair bouncing on my back.

The Old Wilson House was to the right of me, a grove of pink Gerbera growing around the outer banks. It still silence, almost watching me, with the peeling white paint and growing ivy on the sides. A twig sprung from the ground, causing me to trip on the muddy ground, ruining my jeans and white shirt. I groaned, wiping most of the mud before it dried, and stood up.

The smell of war and sweat filled the air, replacing the warm, damp smells of fall. Dizzy voices filled my head, each arguing their own opinion. I could hear them in the walls of the old Wilson house, each yelling and screaming. The area around me spun like a top, dazzling colors of red, yellow, and orange were replaced with monotone colors of grey, black, and white.

Jumbled noises silenced with the cold, harsh wind blowing. I shivered, grabbing at the shirt to cover my exposed elbows. The mud that caked my body was stone hard on my body, making getting up difficult.

The old Wilson house seemed to taunt me as glowing white lights turned on inside, little girl voices giggled and spun around me. The little girls held hands, spinning around my shivering body singing songs of dying flowers and animals. The old Wilson house seemed to come to life different smells and colors poured out like an overflowing sink. I felt the cold wind die down as laughter erupted around me and loud ballroom music. I could see the faint outlines of white dresses shaped like tea cups, spinning around me to the music.

Whispers curled around my body. They were saying “You are alone, and afraid. You haven’t always been that way. But one by one, they left you, until now. You are quite alone.” They repeated this phrase a couple times before drifting away, like the wind. I blinked on the verge of tears, moving into a fetal position with the invisible people dancing around me.

As sudden as the cold wind came, a warm wind enwrapped me, hugging me closely to its chest. I sniffed as the old Wilson house seemed closer than before, but different. It had a fresh coat of white with twirling green ivy and red roses growing in planting pots. The grove of pink Gerbera was growing in the same place, bright pink as always. The air was sweeter than before like springtime with a hint of showers.

It seemed out of dream as I touched the old Wilson house. I had remembered its cracking wood frame, splintered in all the right places and the dying ivy that now curled green around the posts. The warm wind blew softly on the trees, now green growing Gala apples.

A scream rang through the air, like a bullet. I blinked. I saw a person lying in the front yard in front of the old Wilson house. I ran forward but was pulled back, like a cat grabbing their kittens from danger. I saw two boys wearing blue overalls and red handkerchiefs, run over to the person lying in the grass and realized, for a split second, they were my brothers.

“Michael! Daniel!”I tried screaming, but nothing came out. I was being pulled into the dark realm called the old Wilson house. The picture of my brothers faded, like water being added to a painting. Nothing could save me now, I was gone into my own with no way out.